Before the Legend
by headintheclouds3
Summary: ...there was just an insecure Latina girl who met the one person in the world too dumb to be afraid of her. What happens when she realises how frighteningly dependent she is on the other girl's companionship? Brittana backstory.
1. Chapter 1

**So this is my first fan fic. Focusses on Santana and how Brittana began. Please R&R.**

ONE: _Abuela_

Dusk settled over Lima Heights Adjacent, casting the apartment block into deepening shadows. Huddled by her front door, watching the sun set between the gaps in the balcony rails, Santana shivered. Not from the cold – even with the promise of autumn hanging overhead, the summer heat still lingered. No…it wasn't the cold.

A police siren wailed in the distance. Inside the apartment a glass smashed and the heated argument started anew. Santana pulled her hood lower, hiding her face in her knees.

Footsteps approached. Blinking tears away, Santana glanced up. An elderly Latina woman approached carrying two shopping bags, breathing heavily from climbing the stairwell. She put her bags down in front of Santana as she stopped to catch her breath.

Santana glared up at the old woman. "What are you looking at, granny?"

The woman blinked at her in surprise. "What's wrong, niña," she asked. Her furrowed brow highlighted the wrinkles on her forehead, making her look like a dried prune. Inside, something else smashed. The old woman glanced at the door, then back down at Santana. She sighed slightly. "Listen, chika, I need some help with my bags. Why don't you carry them in for me, and I'll fix you something to eat."

"I don't need you charity," Santana snapped.

"Charity? What Charity? I need some help with my bags, that's all. If you really want something else to do I can have you clean out my oven as well."

Santana stared up at the other woman for a moment. Then she slowly stood and grabbed the woman's bags. Nodding slightly, the older woman led the way. Her apartment was only three doors down.

"Can you help with the lock, niña," the old woman asked, fumbling with her keys. Hoisting both bags onto one arm, Santana took the keys.

"Why do you keep calling me Nina," she asked as the lock clicked and the door swung open. "My name's Santana."

"Nice to meet you, Santana," the other woman said as the two stepped over the threshold. "I'm Anita, but call me _abuela_ - grandma. Everyone does. And I was calling you niña, you know, little girl in Spanish." She shook her head in mock horror as the door swung shut behind them. "What kind of self-respecting Latina girl doesn't know Spanish?"

"Well _excuse_ me," Santana muttered as Anita led her into the kitchen and flicked on the lights. Looking around, Santana dumped the shopping bags onto the kitchen counter. It was a quaint little kitchen. Drying spices hung from hooks in the walls, and a crucifix hung above the sink.

"So, how about enchiladas," Anita asked as she started to put the shopping away. Santana looked at her blankly. "Enchiladas. For dinner."

"Uh, that sounds fine," Santana murmured uncertainly.

Anita eagerly rolled up her sleeves. "Okay, good." She tied an apron around her waist, already bustling around the kitchen as she got the necessary ingredients. Santana stood to one side, uncertain of what to do. Suddenly she found herself with an armful of vegetables, being told to chop them, quickly.

You want me to cook," she asked, but Anita had already turned her back and was busying herself with the stove. Reluctantly Santana got out a chopping board and knife, and set to work.

Within fifteen minutes, Santana found herself feeling more at home than she ever did at her actual home. The scent of chilli wafted around the kitchen as Santana and Anita joked with each other. Occasionally, Anita would spout something random in Spanish, or start singing a line from some Spanish song.

An hour later, Santana was sitting down to a delicious meal. She went to dig in, but Anita stopped her. "First we say grace," Anita reminded her. With an exaggerated sigh, Santana clasped her hands together. "Dear Lord, we thank you for the meal we are about to eat, for the company-" she winked at Santana "-we have been blessed with, and for all the graces you give us. Amen."

"Amen," Santana echoed, digging in to the food.

"So, are you starting high-school in September," Anita asked between mouthfuls.

"No." Anita raised one eyebrow, obviously expecting more. Santana rolled her eyes. "No, I'm in my last year of Junior High. I'll be starting high-school next year…if I can manage to pass ninth grade."

"I'm sure you'll be fine, a pretty girl like you. You seem to have your head on your shoulders."

Santana shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "I guess so." The two ate in silence for a while, absorbed in the meal. Finally, Santana broke the silence. "So, don't you have any family? I mean, surely if you did you'd be cooking enchiladas for them, not some random kid."

"I do," Anita answered. 'But they live a few hours away, in Toledo, so I only see them for special occasions."

"I see." The rest of the meal was eaten in relative silence. Afterwards, Santana helped clear the table and wash the dishes. Before she realised it, night had fallen. The clock over the oven read 9:17, and the darkness seemed to press in from the outside.

"I should go home," Santana said finally. "My family's probably worried."

Anita nodded. 'You probably should. But feel free to come visit me again. I can always use a bit of company…plus some extra helping hands around the house are always welcome."

"Cool beans," Santana accepted. "Okay, well g'night Anita."

"_Abuela," _Anita reminded her. Santana gave Anita one last wave as she let herself out the front door. The air outside was still warm, and the wind raised little dust eddies around Santana's feet. She paused for a moment outside the door, but it was silent inside. Hesitantly, she let herself in.

Her mother was bustling around the dining room in her nurse's uniform. Rita Lopez usually looked impeccable but tonight looked flustered, with a few loose tendrils of hair escaping her braid. Hearing Santana come in, she glanced up. "Oh, Santana, it's you. Look, I've been called in to work the night shift. Sandra's off sick. So, there's money on the counter if you want to buy some pizza or something."

"Where's dad," Santana asked, draping her hoodie over the back of the dining chair.

"Cleared off," Rita replied, angrily stuffing her cigarettes into her handbag. "We'll, I'm off." With a light kiss against her daughter's cheek, she hurried down the hallway and out the door. The lock clicked shut with dull finality.

Santana stood in the semi-dark room for a long moment. _Cleared off_? She meant he'd left, didn't she. He was gone.

"Well I didn't see that coming," Santana quipped half-heartedly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so here's Chapter 2. Hope you like it.**

TWO: A Most Peculiar Girl

A heavy silence hung over the Lopez household. Santana found it eerily quiet. _Must be the absence of all the shouting_, Santana thought sarcastically as she braided her hair. _It's just not home without the shouting_.

"I needz ta get to school, mum," she called, pulling on a baggy pair of cargo pants. Grabbing a hoodie, she stepped out into the dining room. The blinds were still drawn to a close, casting the room into soft shadows. Her mother was sitting at the dining table in her dressing gown and slippers, a haze of cigarette smoke surrounding her. The cigarette dangled between her fingers, forgotten as the last bit of tobacco blazed and faded into ash.

Santana threw open the blinds. The morning was crisp and bright, and even Lima Heights Adjacent with graffiti splattered over every inch of the walls and sidewalk seemed cheerful as autumn descended on the neighbourhood. The first of the leaves were starting to turn (not that there were many trees in Lima Heights Adjacent) and pepper the green foliage with their orange and yellow tones.

"Close the blinds," Rita grumbled, shading her face.

"But it's such a nice day," Santana said. 'I just thought…"

"You thought wrong. Just close the bloody blinds…actually just…just…go away. I don't feel like dealing with this in the morning." With a sigh, Rita stood and went into the kitchen. "Don't you have somewhere you need to be; school or something?"

"Fine, I'll get to school myself," Santana muttered to the thin air.

**...**

"Hey," the driver screamed, "why don't you look where you're going before you cross the street? Stupid bitch, you nearly killed me."

Santana quirked one eyebrow. "Maybe if your head wasn't so far up your ass you would have seen me."

She approached the car. The driver nervously shifted in his seat. "But-" he started before Santana cut him off.

"But, what…you're gonna pick a fight? Is that it? Cause I'll be more than happy to bring the _pain_. Just get out of your fucking car. Come one. Let's do it." The driver stared at her, speechless. "I didn't think so." With a toss of the head she strode off, leaving the driver reeling in her wake.

A few students glanced up to see what the hell was going on. Seeing Santana they quickly looked away again. She scowled as she strode up the path towards the school. The crowds parted before her. A few kids tripped over themselves getting out of her way.

_That's right_, Santana thought. _Run in terror. 'Cause the Bitch is back._

A girl caught her eye, for just a moment. Blonde, oddly dressed with suspenders and multi-coloured high socks. She was like a breath of spring in the middle of autumn.

Santana snorted. _So freakin' chipper_. _Disgusting_.

The girl walked across the lot to her waiting friend; another blonde in what Santana could only call 'grandma clothes'. The two were obviously close. Even when they joined a larger crowd, they stuck together. "How sweet," Santana muttered sarcastically as she pushed past them. No one waited for her on the steps. For just a moment, she felt the slightest twinge…then she pushed it aside.

**...**

The bell rang for the start of first period just as Santana settled down under the trees. Hidden by a large tree and a gap in the windows, it was one of the few blind spots in the school where she could ditch class. She pulled the half-empty pack of cigarettes she'd swiped from her mum out of her pocket and wedged one between her lips. Her lighter flicked dully and the end of the cigarette smouldered. Sighing, Santana lay down on the grass, watching the clouds through a haze of smoke.

Footsteps crunched behind her. Santana lazily glanced up to see who it was. The same blonde girl from earlier that day was looking around uncertainly, a piece of paper in her hand. Seeing Santana, the girl hurried over.

"Excuse me," she asked, "do you know where-"

"Whoa, whoa," Santana stopped her short. "Who the hell do you think I am? You don't just come up and start talking to me."

"Do I need a special hall pass," the girl asked.

Santana stopped short, staring at the girl. 'Hilarious," she quipped. 'Frickin' hilarious." The other girl just looked confused. Santana sighed. "What are you looking for?"

"Ummm…room D11. I couldn't remember if it was inside the building or outside."

"Inside, definitely….it's just…you know…" She tried gesturing with her hands, but eventually admitted defeat. "Let me take you."

"Really," the other girl squealed, her face brightening up. Reluctantly Santana stubbed out her cigarette and stood. She was shorter than the other girl, and yet she felt like they were looking eye-to-eye.

_She has such nice eyes_, Santana thought to herself. _Like the sky_.

"Come on, it's this way," she said, leading the girl towards the school entrance. "Still, I can't believe you don't know where D11 is. I mean…aren't you a ninth grader as well? Didn't we have…History together last year, or something? You'd think you'd remember where the classes were by now.

_Dear sweet Mary_, she thought, shaking her head, _I'm making small talk_.

"I think we had English together," the other girl replied. "Unless you were my invisible friend from the basement."

Santana burst out laughing. "You're a bit strange," she told the other girl "you know that?" The hallways were quiet as the two made their way to class. "So anyway, what's your name, little Miss Strange."

"Brittany Susan Pierce," the other girl replied.

Santana bit the corner of her lip to stop herself from smiling. "Well, nice to meet you Brittany Susan Pierce. Can I just call you Brittany? That whole thing's bit long."

"That's what everybody calls me," Brittany exclaimed. "How'd you know? You must be like, psychic or something."

"No. I'm just Santana."

"Santa? I thought you were supposed to be all fat and jolly and-"

"No, I said Santana. That's my name. San-tan-a." They came to a stop outside the classroom. "Okay, we'll…here you are." Santana awkwardly gestured towards the classroom. "End of the line. All passengers off."

Brittany giggled. "You're funny." Before Santana could react, Brittany hugged stiffened and pulled out of the other girl's embrace.

"What the hell. Who said you could hug me?"

"I can't?" the other girl asked. "Why not?"

Santana shifted uncomfortably. "Whatever, just…you know…piss off. Don't you have class?" Brittany broke away after a moment and stepped into the class. Santana could hear the teacher berating her, asking her where she'd been.

Santana sighed. "It was my fault," she said as she stepped into the classroom, her inner voice screaming at her to just leave. "I kept her. It was my fault."

The teacher was a middle aged man, balding, with crooked glasses. "Ms. Lopez," he said. "I'm so glad you decided to join us. And here I heard I needed to watch out for you."

Santana stopped. "Huh?"

"Well, this is your class. Why don't you and Brittany take a seat at the back?" With that, he turned back to the blackboard.

_I've been duped_, Santana realised._ I've actually been duped into attending first period on the first day of school._

With a sigh she followed the other girl and sat down at the bench. Brittany smiled at her as she pulled out a unicorn pencil case. Santana shook her head, grinning. She was one peculiar girl.


	3. Chapter 3

**So this chapters kind of short, but here it is.**

Three: Smack Down

The first week of school passed rather uneventfully. To her surprise, Santana found she had three classes with that Brittany girl. Even more to her surprise, she actually felt a strange desire to go to class. All week she'd been a good girl. That all ended Friday morning.

The hallways were crowded as people rushed to get to first period. Keen for a ciggie break, Santana stepped into the girls' bathroom and stopped short. A tableau seemed to be frozen before her. A girl was on the ground, another holding her by the hair. Two other girls stood nearby, watching.

Santana went to leave when the girl on the floor turned to look at her. Santana instantly recognised those sky-blue eyes.

_Just go, _she ordered herself. _It's not worth it_. _Just turn around and go_. But she didn't.

"What the _fuck_ is going on," she asked.

The other three girls looked at her. "Just putting her in her place," one said. "Stay out of it, bitch."

"I don't think so," Santana said. She jumped forward and pulled Brittany to her feet, quickly retreating. She quickly gave Brittany a once over, making sure she was alright. "Apologize to her."

"I beg your pardon? Stay the hell out of this."

Santana stepped forward with a humourless laugh. "Okay, let me make this clearer. Apologize 'afore I endz you, white bread."

"Bite me, ghetto-trash," the other girl challenged, stepping forward. The other two girls hurriedly stepped forward to support her. Santana and the leader stared at each other for a long moment, their faces millimetres apart. Then Santana slapped her.

"Bitch," the other girl screamed. All three girls jumped Santana at once, biting, hitting, kicking, scratching. Santana lashed out. One of the girls staggered back with a bleeding nose. Another fell down.

'You guys fight like a bunch of-," Santana screeched before something thudded into her stomach. She keeled over. The others descended like vultures. Blows rained down upon her. Santana gripped on of their legs, digging in her nails. They wrenched away.

Santana lashed out blindly. Her foot struck something soft. One of the girls staggered back. Santana stood hurriedly. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her pocketknife. She pressed the switch and the knife flicked out. It wasn't really much of a knife. But it was enough to make the other girls pale. The last girl stared at Santana for a few moments, then turned and fled. The other two left hot on her tail.

"And that's how we do it in Lima Heights," Santana called after their retreating backs. She turned to inspect Brittany. "Are you okay?

Brittany's tears had dried on her face. "You're so bad-ass," she whispered. "You're like…Puss in Boots…only even more epic."

"Cheers," Santana said, walking over to the other girl. "So, what the hell was all that about."

"I don't know," the other girl said. "I was just talking to Noah, and they grabbed me. They said they needed to talk to me. Then the started hitting me. They were like, 'how dare you be his friend' or something."

"Really? All that over a boy? That's kind of desperate."

Santana heard someone else enter the bathroom. She turned to see Brittany's friend, the blonde one with the bad taste in clothes.

The blonde caught sight of Brittany. "What's wrong," she asked, seeing the tears on Brittany's face. Her eyes flicked to Santana. "What did you do to her?" She stormed over, forcing Santana back.

"Nothing," Santana protested, backing up. 'I just saved her ass, no thanks to you."

The blonde girl assessed her for a moment. Then she turned back to Brittany.

'You're welcome," Santana said, leaving the other girl cooing over Brittany.

"Santana." Brittany's voice stopped her in the doorway. "Thankyou."

"Yeah, whatevs," Santana said with fake nonchalance. The door swung shut behind her.

The hallway was less crowded as Santana slowly made her way to class. Hesitantly, she reached up to touch her face. Her cheek was hot and swollen. She'd probably have an almighty black eye the next day. The pain in her side told her that wouldn't be her only bruise.


	4. Chapter 4

Four: Dirty Money

It was just after six, and Santana found herself propped up on a stool in Anita's bathroom. Santana refused to cry out as the older woman poked and prodded her bruises. The other woman muttered something in Spanish, making a small 'tut-tut' sound in the back of her throat.

'Well, it doesn't look too bad," she said, sitting back. "Or at least I've seen worse." She opened up her first aid kit, taking out a cream. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me what happened." She unscrewed the lid, and applied a little of the cream to the worst of Santana's bruises.

"I've already told you," Santana said, biting back a hiss of pain, "nothing happened."

Anita snorted. "Don't try to bullshit me, Santanita. I raised three sons on my own. I can tell a lie from a million miles away."

"On your own?"

"My husband died just before the third was born." Finished Anita put the cream away. She turned back to Santana with a stern look in her eye. "And don't try to change the subject."

"I just…I don't want to talk about it," Santana sobbed, trying to force the waterworks. Where evasion didn't work, tears always did.

Anita snorted. 'Don't give me crocodile tears, girl."

Santana instantly switched it off with a melodramatic sigh. "It really wasn't anything…much. There were these three girls…and, she just looked…I don't know, so freakin' defenceless. I couldn't just…" Santana trailed off, unable to explain it.

Anita assessed the girl and shook her head, dismissing it. "Well, it looks like you gave them one hell of a fight." She gave the girl a smile. "How'd the other girls look afterwards?"

"Worse than me," Santana informed her with an impish grin.

"Well, that's what they get for messing with a spitfire."

Santana blushed, looking away. Anita laughed, a deep, good-natured laugh. For some reason it made Santana feel…safe…comforted. She smiled hesitantly up at the other woman.

"I should probably get home," Santana said, slipping off the stool. "Thanks for…you know…thanks."

"You're welcome," Anita acknowledged.

"Well, bye Anita."

"_Abuela_," the other woman reminded her. Santana just gave her another casual wave over her shoulder.

Santana let herself out. The night was coming earlier now, and the watery light of dusk was rapidly fading. Down in the courtyard below the safety lights flickered into existence. Santana went to the balcony and looked out over the street. A few kids were kicking the can around in the streets. Nearby, some of their older cohorts tagged the sidewalk. _Why are we living in this dump_, Santana wondered. Sighing, she leant against the balcony rail.

A pair of headlights lit up the streets. The kids on the street fled, scattering in every different direction. A taxi pulled up out the front of the building. The door cracked open, but nobody stepped out for a moment. Then a woman stepped out of the cab. Santana jerked up as she recognised her mother, standing there in her slinkiest black dress and monster heels.

Rita said something to someone inside the cab. A man leant out the door. They seemed to be arguing. Angrily the man stuffed a wad of bills into Rita's hands. Santana's eyes widened in surprise as her mother desperately stuffed them into her purse. The man said something, and then slammed the taxi door in Rita's face. The taxi drove off. Wearily Rita sighed and headed up the stairs.

As she reached the top, Santana met her eyes. Santana took in her mother's appearance, examining the slinky dress and smudged red lipstick. An unspoken message passed between them. They both knew what the money had been for. Rita pushed past her daughter, rummaging through her bags for her keys.

"Why," Santana asked hollowly.

'We need the money," her mother replied. Her tone didn't brook any discussion.

"Why can't dad pay," Santana asked angrily. "He has enough money for it. What's more, why are we even _in _this hellhole to begin with? I mean…" She trailed off, shaking her head in disgust. Her mother silently opened the door and stepped inside. Santana followed her mother. The door swung shut behind them.


	5. Chapter 5

Five: Contrary to Popular Belief

Santana fidgeted nervously in the waiting room outside the principal's office. The wall on the clock ticked monotonously, the only sound in the otherwise deserted room. Santana had no idea what was happening. She slouched down in her seat and scowled at the impressionist painting on the opposite wall, shoving her hands into her pockets to stop from wringing her fingers. The clock ticked. That too-clean smell of polish and steam-cleaned carpets pervaded the room. Time seemed to stretch for eternity. Santana began to nervously tap her foot.

Finally the door opened. Three girls filed out. Three girls who were all too familiar to Santana, though they were covered with bruises and one had a broken nose taped with medical tape. A few more girls followed them, and then finally five adults Santana guessed to be their parents. As the passed, the three girls smirked down on Santana. The parents gave her disparaging looks. Last of all came the principal.

"Thankyou so much Principal Harkins," one of the fathers said. 'You've been a great help." The parents all echoed him, offering their thanks and shaking Principle Hawkins' hand. The girls stood there looking smug. Done with the pleasantries, the group turned and hurried out the door.

Principal Harkins turned to look at Santana. 'Miss Lopez, my office." He took off his glasses and cleaned them as he led Santana into his office. It was a nice room with a big wood desk and a student achievement plaque dominating the wall behind the desk. Santana sat down in the chair before the principal, and slid down as low as possible in the seat. Principal Hawkins settled down, and fixed his gaze on Santana. Santana squirmed. He watched her silently.

"Do you know why you're here," he asked finally.

"No," Santana said, shrugging.

"I've just spent the better part of the morning being yelled at by some very angry parents. Parents who claim you beat up their daughters, who claim you brought a _knife _to school." He shook his head. "What were you thinking, Santana?"

"I didn't beat them up," Santana protested. "I was just…"

"I have several girls who say they were eye witnesses. That's seven girls against your word. And considering your history…well, let's just say this is looking like a pretty clear cut case."

Santana opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He wasn't going to believe her. He was the judge and the jury, and had already decided she was guilty. She sunk even deeper into her seat and scowled and the principal. "Whatever."

Principal Harkins leant back with a sigh. "You're suspended for one week, affective immediately. I'm going to have to call your mother in and have a talk with her. Then you must leave school grounds with her immediately."

Santana closed her eyes. For a moment, tears threatened. She pushed them back. "Don't bother," she said. "I can go home by myself." She angrily jumped up. Before the principal could stop her she stormed out of the office.

The halls were mostly deserted as she raced past. She didn't even both to grab her bags. She just thundered out the front doors and down the steps out the front of the building. Standing in the sudden blaze of sunlight, Santana turned around hopelessly, her fists bunched, tears threatening.

'FUCK," she screamed at the sky. Hopelessly she lashed out at the air. Across the road, an elderly woman walking her dog glanced at Santana and hurriedly looked away.

"Santana?" A voice broke through Santana's rage. Santana turned to see Brittany's friend standing by the stairs. "It is Santana, right?" Santana just scowled at her. 'Listen…I'm Quinn Fabray. And…look, thankyou for what you did for Brittany. Just…it would be better if you stayed away from her. People like you are just…and Brittany's so defenceless…"

"Quinn, is it," Santana asked, with an overly sweet smile. Quinn nodded uncertainly, and Santana's smile transformed into a sneer. "Fuck you…no, just…fuck everyone, in this fucking little town. I don't…I just…fuck it!" Santana kicked the stairs angrily. She turned back to Quinn. "I just don't get it. Why does everyone just assume that I'm the bad kid? Why did everyone just assume those girls were innocent?"

Quinn raised one perfectly tweezed eyebrow. "That girl that you stopped from beating up Brittany…her name's Mandy Woodbane. She's possibly the most popular girl in this school."

"So?"

'So…haven't you realised yet? In school popularity is power. I mean, I know you've got this whole 'I'm so big, bad and tough with my bitchy tone and little knife', and, sure, it gives you power. People are scared of you, sure. But they're more afraid of what Mandy and her friends could do to them. Those girls could easily destroy anyone's life. They could complete isolate them from the rest of the school. They have friends in all the right places, the teachers are practically eating out of their hands, and most often than not their parents are rich."

"So in other words I didn't stand a chance."

Quinn rolled her eyes. 'Oh, get over yourself. Seriously, what's with this self-pity party? I thought you had more balls than this."

"Fuck you, Fabray." Santana turned on her heel and stormed away. Quinn didn't both calling her back.

**…**

Santana sat back on her bed, examining the sight before her. She's pinned a photo of her to the wall, and underneath it the word 'Popularity'. She'd surrounded it with images of clothes, shoes, make up, and articles from magazines about being popular, making friends, and the art of getting a boyfriend. Looking up at the wall, how the paper stood out against the black wallpaper, Santana had to snort at the superficiality of it all. But she couldn't bring herself to take it down. As she gazed up at the images, something stirred inside her…a sudden goal, and urge to actually succeed at something.

The front door slammed, breaking Santana out of her reverie. "Santana," her mother's voice called. Santana sighed and reluctantly got up to face the music. She half closed her bedroom door behind her, and a sliver of light ignited the image of the wall. Her face glared out at the room, determined to become the number one Top Bitch and destroy Mandy Woodbane.


	6. Chapter 6

**Six: Safe. Loved. Wanted.**

Late Saturday afternoon Santana found herself standing on the doorstep to her father's new apartment. Standing at the door with her bag in hand, Santana found she was unable to muster up the courage to knock. She stared at the brass fourteen on the door, gleaming dully in the afternoon light. She raised her hand to knock, stopped, dropped her hand. She tried again and once again dropped her hand. Giving up, she turned on her heel and strode towards the stairs. Her phone wailed, bringing her up short. Sighing, Santana pulled it out. Her mother's name flashed up on the screen.

"Hey mum," she said.

'Don't you dare," her mother said.

"Don't I dare what?"

'Don't you dare leave. I can see you from the car. Don't you _dare_ leave. You've been moping around the house all week. I can't deal with you any more. I need a break. So you are going to stay with you dad for the weekend. You are going to stay with him and not make any dramas for me."

"Fine," Santana sighed, reluctantly turning around.

"Oh and also…"

'Yeah?"

'Tell you dad he can go fuck himself. I mean look at this fucking place. He's got us holed up in that stinking piece of shit we call…and look at this fucking place."

'Bye mum," Santana said, hanging up. However, she couldn't help but agree as she cast her eye over the apartment block. It was a very nice apartment. It wasn't Beverley Hills or something, but it was in a nice neighbourhood, in a clean, modern apartment block with spacious apartments. When Santana compared it to the heap of shit her mother was struggling to pay the rent for…

She flung her bags down on the door mat. Taking a deep breath she rapped loudly on the door. Inside she heard someone curse, and then approaching footsteps. The door was wrenched open, and suddenly Carlos Lopez was standing in the door. For a moment Santana hardly recognised him. Clean shaven, with crisp, ironed clothes and a surprisingly blank expression – he wasn't the father she knew. He looked so…plain. So respectable. But it was him. He had the same nondescript face, the same dark eyes, the same rose tattoo poking out the end of his sleeve. Santana found herself glaring at the man in front of her.

"Hey dad," she said.

"Santana," he acknowledged, standing aside. "Would you like to come in?"

"Thanks." Picking up her bag she brushed past him and found herself standing in a spacious lounge. A large television dominated the far wall across from an expensive-looking leather couch set. There was a gap in one of the walls, and through it Santana could see a neat kitchen with stone bench tops and wooden cabinets. A piece of art hung on the wall.

"Nice place," she sniped, throwing her bag on the couch. "Very nice." She cast a meaningful glare at her father. His face remained blank.

"I don't feel like explaining myself to you," he said.

"Maybe you should. I mean…don't I deserve that much. I'm your daughter."

'And what a daughter you are" he said. He stared down at his daughter for a moment, then slowly shook his head. "I mean…why don't I deserve a nice house. I'm not a bad person. Sure I made a mistake having you when I was seventeen. But I'm the good guy here."

"I don't know-"

"Don't interrupt! I mean…I don't deserve this. I don't deserve a whore of a wife who bitches and screams at me constantly. I don't deserve some degenerate half-assed disappointment of a daughter. I mean, why couldn't you have been a nice, quiet girl. Instead I get a daughter who dresses like a drug dealer and gets suspended for fighting. AND I DON"T DESERVE IT!" Santana barely flinched as her father yelled. Instead she glared at him with icy indifference. "I deserve a nice house, and a nice family. I worked hard to get myself through medicine school, to be the best father and husband, to be a great doctor. I deserve a good life. And you…bitches are intent on destroying it."

"Dad, how can you…" Santana was interrupted as her father's mobile rang. He pulled out of his pocket and checked the caller ID.

"We can talk about this later," he said. "I need to take this."

"No, we're going to talk about this now, dad!"

"I said LATER." Santana stopped short. Her father flipped open the phone. "Mendel, what is it?" Blatantly ignoring his daughter, he walked into the kitchen, speaking in a low voice. Santana took the moment to quickly dash away the tears threatening to fall. For a long moment she stood in the middle of the lounge, her arms crossed awkwardly over her chest as she stared at the wall. Eventually her father came back in.

"Look, let's not fight now," he said. "I've been called in. There was a bus crash, and they need as many doctors on call as possible. I probably won't be back until tomorrow morning. Okay? So…let's just forget we ever talked about this. Okay? I love you, Santana." Santana looked down. The words seemed insincere in her ears. Her dad awkwardly put his hand on her arm. "There's some food in the fridge, and a spare set of keys hanging by the door." He grabbed his bag and coat and left, locking the door behind him. Santana sat down on the couch and stared at the opposite wall.

**…**

It was approaching eight when Santana decided she had to get out of the apartment. Grabbing a jacket from her bag and the spare keys, she fled like a demon fleeing a holy man. The streets were dark, lit only by the faint pools of light cast by the overhead street lamps. Santana crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. For a while she wandered without purpose. Then suddenly a face sprang into her mind…a beautiful blonde with eyes like the sky. All she wanted to do was find those sky blue eyes. She just wanted to see her, to talk to her.

Slowly Santana shook her head, thinking, _You don't know where she lives, and you don't know her number. How are you meant to find her, Santana?_ But she couldn't wait to see her on Monday. She needed Brittany. She hardly knew her, but she knew Brittany could make it better.

She went to a phone booth and opened up the phone book. Over twenty Pierce families were listed. And Santana had no idea what Brittany's parents were called. She didn't really know anything about her. Feeling her pockets, she found an assortment of loose change, and started calling each family, asking if Brittany lived there. She found gold at the eighth family.

"Is Brittany there," Santana asked the person who had picket up the phone.

"Yeah," the person replied. Santana felt her heart soar. "Can I ask who's calling?"

"My name's Santana. I'm…Brittany's friend." She found herself smiling as she said the words.

"Okay, I'll go get her." Santana felt her hands shaking as they went to get Brittany. She just hoped she had the right Brittany. She just wanted to talk to her. To hear her voice. _Please let it be her_, Santana prayed.

"Hello," a voice called. Santana instantly recognised it.

"Brittany," she breathed. She slid down the side of the phone booth and sat on the concrete floor, the receiver pressed against her ear. The conversation slid by. They spoke of inconsequential things Santana hardly remembered afterwards. The one thing she did remember however was the feeling she got as she spoke with Brittany. Safe. Loved. Wanted.


	7. Chapter 7

**So here's the new chapter. Sorry for the long wait. I just want to thank everyone who has reviewed my story and who has added it to their story alerts. Please continue to read and review.**

**Also, I absolutely loved the new episode of Glee! I almost cried for Santana. God I adore her!**

**The First Attempt**

"Fuck," Santana swore, staring at her reflection in the mirror. It was Monday morning, and Santana found herself standing in her mother's mini-dress and ridiculously high heels. Her hair was spun like black cotton candy, stiff with excessive hairspray. Her face was plastered with foundation, her eyebrows were almost non-existent having been plucked down to tufts and her lip-liner was crooked. Staring at herself, Santana snorted. She glanced over at her bed where a pair of baggy jeans and a hoodie called beckoningly to her. Then she looked up at the collage of 'popularity' that now covered two walls. Reluctantly she sighed and gave her appearance one last look over. "Right. I can do this." With one final nod she strode out into the crisp autumn air.

Of course, a skimpy dress and high heels is the perfect ensemble to wear when walking to school of a chilly October morning. Within a block Santana found herself hobbling along, her arms wrapped around her body. She shivered as the wind picked up, and drew her arms tighter around herself.

She arrived at school early. Striding down the hallway Santana tried to act as if she were confident of her new attire and her feet weren't slowly murdering her. She was seriously beginning to think all this wasn't worth it.

"Santanaaaaaa," a sing-song voice called. Santana awkwardly turned to see Brittany running towards her. Her hair was up, exposing her shoulders a throat. Santana found herself staring at the way the other girl's collar bones resembled the wings of a bird. The other girl suddenly stopped short, jerking Santana from her reverie.

"What," Santana asked self-consciously.

"You look like a clown," the other girl informed her. Santana raised her nearly non-existent eyebrows, trying to decide if the other girl was _trying _to piss her off.

She gave the other girl a tight-lipped smile. "If anyone else said that I'd have to go all Lima Heights on their ass. But I'll make an exception for you." She rested her hand lightly on the other girl's arm, smiling at her. Brittany smiled back at her - a full 1000 watt smile that left Santana reeling.

"Come and hang out with Quinn and me. I'm meeting her on the front steps."

"I don't know if..." Santana started, but broke off as she saw Brittany's disappointed face. She sighed. "I guess I could come hang for just a little bit." Brittany smiled happily and reached to take Santana's hand. Unconsciously Santana pulled away. The two girls stopped.

'Why," Brittany asked with a hurt look on her face. Santana sighed. Slowly she held up her pinkie finger. Brittany looked at her a long moment. Santana looked back at her, her heart racing.

"I don't get it," Brittany admitted.

Santana snorted with laughter as the tension fled. "We can hold pinkies, if you want," she said. Brittany's face lit up. The two linked pinkies and continued down the hall. Walking out into the bitter morning air, Santana once again regretted her choice to wear a dress. She wrapped her arms around herself, and then hurriedly dropped then as she spotted Quinn. The other girl turned to face them as they came down the stairs. Looking at Santana, Quinn burst into laughter.

"What on earth are you wearing," Quinn asked. She looked Santana up and down and snorted with amusement. "Who are you trying to kid? You look beyond ridiculous." She stepped closer, and bent to murmur in Santana's ear. "Come to the bathroom with me…now." Santana caught a glimpse of something hard in her eyes. 

"Brittany, I'm just going to help Santana with her makeup," Quinn told her. "Why don't you just go put your books in your locker and we'll meet up with you?"

"Okay," Brittany said happily. Quinn led the way, with Santana following shortly after. They wound up in the first floor bathrooms by the science classrooms. Quinn strode across the room and turned to glare at Santana. With a sigh, Santana rested against the bathroom counter.

"I asked you to stay away from her," Quinn stated.

"I'm not really one for following orders," Santana said.

"I'm not really giving you a choice." Quinn stepped right up into Santana's face. Their eyes locked.

"Screw this," Santana said, turning to go.

"Stop," Quinn growled, grabbing Santana and wrenching her around. Santana looked down as Quinn's fake nails dug into the underbelly of her arm. The two girls glared at each other for a long moment. Santana began to wonder if she would have to get physical. Finally, Quinn looked away and pulled a wet wipe out of her pocket. None to gently she began to wash the excessive makeup of Santana's face. Santana chose not to complain.

"Why are you doing this," Quinn asked.

Santana looked at her, mulling the question over. "Because I'm sick of being powerless. I'm sick of being pushed around. I want to at least be powerful in school. How else…will I be able to protect her?"

Quinn gave a strange half-smile. "Brittany, you mean? You want to protect Brittany." Santana nodded hesitantly, and Quinn nodded. "I understand. That's all I want to do…protect her. That's why I wanted you to stay away. She's my best friend, but she's just so…" She trailed off, unsure of the right word.

"Helpless," Santana offered. Quinn nodded slowly.

"Yeah. Helpless. And that's why I didn't want you to get involved with her." Santana nodded as Quinn look of the last of the makeup. "Why don't I help you with your makeup, just this once." Santana smiled at her, and Quinn pulled out a small fortune in makeup out of her bag.


	8. Chapter 8

**So firstly, I want to again thank everyone for all the reviews, favourites and story alerts. Also, in early chapters I have said that Santana is in Ninth Grade. However, I do not understand the American schooling system, and actually meant Eighth Grade. I wanted Santana to be in the last year of Middle School.**

* * *

><p><strong>That Little Patch of Sun<strong>

November descended on Lima with the cold breath of autumn. The leaves turned, the nights became chilly, and Santana soon found that it was acceptable to wear skinny jeans in autumn and still look 'cool'. She gladly tossed aide the mini-skirts, placing them deep inside her closet where she wouldn't have to contemplate them again until summer.

It was a Saturday morning, and Santana was having a slow morning - coffee, pancakes, stretching out in front of the TV and watching cartoons. The door clicked shut around 9:30, and her mother quietly padded inside. Santana glanced up briefly, then back to her cartoons.

"I see you missed the memo," she said.

Rita stopped and turned to face her daughter. 'What's that?" she asked.

"That it's almost winter." Santana indicated the dress her mother was wearing. In all honesty Santana had believed for a moment the dress was a shirt, it was so short. It wouldn't exactly keep the cold at bay.

"Oh, yeah, I guess it is." An awkward silence descended. Rita was the shirt to break it, squirming uncomfortably. "I should probably go to bed. I need some sleep."

Santana just nodded. Her mother and she had a kind of unspoken agreement to never talk about why Rita was out most nights in skimpy little dresses. After a moment, Rita went into the next room. Santana turned back to watch the TV. She wasn't sure exactly what she was watching; some cartoon that looked like the creators were on acid while they produced it. Santana found herself sinking into it, completely lost in the illogical plot and bizarre characters.

Suddenly her phone rang, breaking her from her reverie. She hurriedly grabbed around for it, upturning pillows and magazines in her search. Finally she pulled it out from under the coach seat. The name BRITT flashed up on the little blue screen. Smiling slightly, Santana accepted the call.

"Hey Britt-Britt," she said.

"Hey Santana," the other girl said. "You know…can you come over my house? I mean I know that on Saturdays you have to hand out Chihuahuas to poor Mexican kids, but…"

"Huh?" was all Santana could say. _Chihuahuas? Mexicans?_

"It's okay. I know. Quinn told me about how…"

'Quinn." Santana rolled her eyes. "That little…can you please put her on Brittany?"

"Sure." Santana heard a slight scrabbling sound as the phone changed hands.

"Hey Satan," Quinn greeted her.

"Hey Fabitch," Santana replied. "Look, can you pretty _fucking _please stop with the bullshit. I mean…Chihuahuas? Mexican kids? What the fuck is your problem?"

"You know what my problem is. You. I don't like you. I thought I made that clear."

"Yeah, you're practically deodorant."

"I really don't understand what you're talking about half the time."

"Whatever. Just put Brittany back on."

"And if I don't want to?"

Santana was about to make a smart-arse comment when she heard the phone changing hands, and heard Brittany on the other line. "Quinn says she's going home," Brittany told her.

"Cool," Santana replied, unable to keep a small smile off her lips. "So…you wanted me to come over?"

…

Half an hour later, Santana found herself outside Brittany's house for the first time. Brittany obviously came from a middle class family. The house looked respectable, but not overly wealthy. It was just a relatively small, two-story brick house with a small lawn and a garden bed out the front. However, it was a far cry from Santana's own home.

Santana didn't even have time to knock before the door was thrown wide open. Brittany was standing there in a bambi PJ t-shirt and shorts that seemed completely inappropriate for the weather. Not that Santana was complaining. It was the first time Santana saw her hair before she had a chance to style it. It fell in soft golden waves around her face. Santana thought she looked even more beautiful than normal. It was a kind of unrefined beauty. Santana smiled self-consciously at the other girl.

"Santanaaaaaa," Brittany squealed, grabbing the shorter girl into a tight embrace. After a second Santana returned the embrace, enjoying the feeling of her hands pressed against the other girl's back. Suddenly she froze.

_What am I doing,_ she thought. Quickly she extricated herself from Brittany's grasp. The two girls stood on the doorstep for half a second. To her surprise, Santana found herself slightly breathless.

"You want to come in?" Brittany asked.

"Yeah, sure," Santana said. Brittany took her hand and led her upstairs. The house seemed oddly quiet as the two girls padded down the carpeted hallway and entered the room at the end of the hall. A rainbow with the words BRITTANY'S ROOM hung on the door. Brittany pushed it open and revealed an oddly normal room. Santana had been expecting pink and frills and unicorns. Instead she got a plain room with light green walls. A feature wall had an old fashioned rose pattern. The double bed was plain, and the only touch of Brittany was the multicoloured photo frames on a number of surfaces and a few odd plushie unicorns. There was a large window dominating the wall opposite the bed sending a rectangle of bright morning light slanting across the carpet. Santana sat precariously on the edge of Brittany's bed. Brittany sprawled out over the carpet in the little patch on sunlight. Santana licked her lips, wishing she could join her.

"So," she said, looking around to distract herself, "where are your parents?"

"They run an electronics store in town," Brittany answered. "Though secretly I think they might be trying to build a special machine to summon aliens."

Santana nodded, trying to hide her grin. "Do you get lonely? I mean…you're here all by yourself on a Saturday. Do you…feel lonely?" Santana swallowed a lump in her throat.

"No." Brittany flashed one of her winning smiles. "I love mum and dad. I mean, they work hard but they always come home in time for family dinner. And they close the shop every second Saturday and we go away for the weekend."

"How nice."

The two were interrupted when the door was nudged open and a fat ball of fur trotted into the room. Santana eyed it off uncertainly. It was some kind of cat…she thought. But really she wasn't sure underneath all that fat.

"That's Lord Tubbington," Brittany explained. She grabbed the cat, hugging it close. "Lord Tubbington is my extra special friend. He protects my diary from all the little pixies that try to steal it. But then he reads it himself…naughty Lord Tubbington."

Santana just nodded sagely. The cat fought its way free of Brittany and stalked out the door with his tail held high. Brittany rested back on the ground. After a moment, Santana moved to lie next to the blonde. Then she stopped.

Tentatively Santana rested her head on Brittany's stomach. She waited for the other girl to move away, but when she didn't a strange thrill surged through Santana's body. She smiled up at the other girl, who smiled back at her. Santana threw her arm over Brittany's legs, trying to make it look casual as she brushed over the other girl's tanned thighs.

"So what about you family," Brittany asked.

"What about them," Santana asked lazily as she stretched out in the sun. It was deliciously warm in that little patch of sunlight despite the chill in the air.

"You know…what do they do? Do you like them?"

Santana shrugged with a noncommittal grunt. After a pause she said, "My parents split up. I live with my mum, but she and I…we don't really…And my dad, he's just _fucking _brilliant. I barely ever see him, and when I do he has to work. And mum always has to work."

"What kind of work does your mum do," Brittany asked.

"She just your run of the mill whore," Santana snapped out. Then she close her eyes in dismay. _It just slipped out_, she apologized mentally to her mother. But strangely she didn't feel bad. She felt like a weight had been lifted. Tentatively she looked over at the other girl. Blue eyes stared back at her in confusion.

"What's a whore," Brittany asked. After a second Santana threw back her head and laughed. Dismissing it, the two moved on to lighter conversation. As the room began to darken, Santana and Brittany both found themselves struggling to stay awake. Santana gave one last desperate attempt to wake up as her eyelids fluttered, and then she slipped into a doze. Brittany followed her soon after, and they dozed on the floor wrapped in each others arms.

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><p><strong>So anyway, please read and review. And also, the next chapter will probably be a while. It might be about a week until I can get it out.<strong>


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